Thy will be done

A damp-sky day

Saturday was the second day of faculty development with the full UCBC faculty. The session was scheduled for 8-11am. But it had rained the night before, and the morning sky was grey and heavy with moisture....Rainy days mean people are late to work or school. Six of us were ready at 8:15. Eight of us by 8:30. At 8:45 we were about half the class. If I had been in the US, I would have likely begun to grow impatient, frustrated, and perturbed. But I’m learning that time and plans follow different paths in Africa. My daughter Ann says that African time is closer to God’s time.

So, still trying to decide how best to proceed, we began as we do most things at UCBC, with singing—the “UCBC bell.” Aside from a start time later than planned, this fit my usual approach faculty development sessions: begin with some time of setting the stage, nurturing community, checking in, taking the pulse. At UCBC we also pray (not what I usually do with faculty in the US!). But when people began to offer thanksgivings and share petitions, the reason for our gathering and the reasons for our “delay” became clear.

Two people offered thanksgivings for renewed health, after a day of being sick. One of our members was not with us because his sister had died in childbirth during the night (if you want to learn about the urgency for maternal care in developing countries, read Half the Sky). Another member was with a neighbor whose child had died the previous evening. Bandits had attempted to burglarize the home of a third person in our group the previous evening. Out of our faculty development group of 20, 3 had been directly affected by death or violence within a 24 hours.

I share this not to startle or sensationalize, but to sketch a bit of the picture of life here in Beni and in Congo. It is perhaps a sketch of life in most of the developing world. But there is something else.

Yesterday morning reminded me that I am not here to do my work. I am here to do what God would have me do. It's God's will, not mine.

Years ago, in the midst of a period of pain and anxiety in my family, I sat outside a magistrate’s chambers for 5 hours, waiting to be called before the bench. For the previous 12 months, events had plummeted and soared without apparent pattern. It was if my life and the lives of my loved ones had been hijacked. As I sat outside the courtroom on this particular day, numb to my own wishes, I prayed the mantra, “Thy will be done. Amen. Thy will be done. Amen. Thy will be done. Amen.” Those five words were the only consolation as I waited my turn for a stranger to pronounce a judgment that I couldn’t anticipate. “Thy will be done. Amen,” consoled me when I walked out of the courtroom late in the afternoon, stunned by the magistrate’s decision. “Thy will be done. Amen,” cleared my head, calmed my heart, and brought me to terms with the decision.

“Thy will be done. Amen,” were the words of prayer yesterday. Yes, I had spent the previous week preparing for Saturday’s session. But the realities of life here in Beni, DRC intervened.  Yes, we have work to do and things to accomplish. But, as we are reminded in recovery, we are not in control of events, time, other people—of anything but our own responses. Thanks be to God, I was able to “release” my agenda yesterday and pray “Thy will be done,” in our time together (2 hours instead of 3!). But I was also reminded of one of the gifts that Congo has given me: daily reminders that I am powerless, that my will cannot be done, but that God is sufficient.

“Thy will be done. Amen.”